


Teachings

by Lullabylily



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Age Difference, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Underage Sex, Yassen Gregorovich Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 14:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17286158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lullabylily/pseuds/Lullabylily
Summary: Alex learns that attempting to steal a gun right under Yassen Gregorovichs' nose is a bad idea. But he makes sure Yassen teaches him a whole lot more…





	Teachings

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reposting fics from Livejournal. This was written for spy_fest in 2011.   
> Alex's age could be anywhere from 14 to 16, since I'm off canon anyway. But definitely borderline as to age of consent; hence the warning.   
> Thanks for reading <3.

It had been a bad idea, Alex admitted to himself as he ducked down further into the shadows of the small, metallic desk. The grunting sounds amplified and Alex hit his head against the frame with a soft thump. Yes, possibly his worst idea yet.

The events leading up to that particular crowning moment were clearly a mixture of bad ideas and even worse luck.

Accepting another mission from MI6 had been a bad idea; he’d known so from the start.

Running into Yassen Gregorovich had been bad luck, supremely bad luck, since the man was supposed to be _dead_. Only Alex could be that unlucky to run into a globally feared assassin who just happened to be his arch nemesis. Especially since he’d watched said assassin die in front of his eyes. Not that he’d bothered to check for a pulse at the time… There had been the gunshot; he’d seen the blood… It really wasn’t his fault that Yassen Gregorovich was like a cat with nine lives. No, that was where luck came into play. And Alex had clearly run out of it.

That was the only explanation for ending up where he was right now; in some Egyptian faux private school, the fake identity MI6 had given him stripped away, his gadgets confiscated and his life reduced to ‘homework’ and a 9 pm curfew. 

It was long past 9 now, and the grunting sounds had steadily progressed into moans and shouts of ‘Yes, yes, right there, yes.’ And Alex really didn’t believe this was fair punishment for sneaking out of his room that night.

Enrique’s voice transformed into a high-pitched screaming as he reached his climax. Alex covered his ears and tried not to feel sorry for himself. He failed miserably.

It had seemed like the most logical thing to do: sneak into Enrique’s chambers to look for the handgun he’d seen the man carry around earlier that week. The security guards around school were armed too, but they were meticulous about their weaponry. Enrique… Enrique was the world’s worst ‘janitor’ in the entire history of high schools. And when Alex had discovered he was an _armed_ concierge… well…

Sometimes it seemed like Brent was simply trying to bore him to death, keeping him in the school. But Alex knew something sinister was looming. The whole school felt like a time bomb ticking away. And there was Yassen… Yassen, whose lips had curled into a smirk when he’d laid eyes on Alex, not looking the least bit surprised. 

Brent Oliver was the man MI6 had wanted him to investigate. Only, the man seemed to have known a lot more about Alex than Alex did about him. A distinct disadvantage for a spy. He’d informed Alex in an even voice that Dean Stanley was no longer a student at the school, quite simply because Dean Stanley didn’t exist. Alex Rider did, but Alex Rider had never travelled to Egypt.

“What do you want from me?” Alex had asked, because they all wanted _something_ , even if it was just the pleasure of watching him die.

But Brent had simply smiled at him, a vague, detached kind of smile that made him look even more like the psychopath he clearly was.

“Just do your homework, Alex.”

And that had been that. Yassen Gregorovich had ransacked his belongings in search of spy-gear, but after that he’d been treated just like any other English boy at the school. Life went by at the same schedule every day. The only time he would ever spend outdoors was the short, fifty-metre walk from the residential building to the lecture hall and the refectory.

If he’d wanted excitement; he had sure found it now, Alex thought, as he prayed that Enrique and the blonde girl he had with him would leave so he could escape the cramped position he was in.

But no escape was to be had. When the sounds of the couple fumbling on the bed were suddenly accompanied by wet sounds and the woman’s voice, “Wait… let me just…”

The sucking sound grew louder and dirtier and Alex just knew that there was a dark cloud of doom hanging over his head. He pressed his upper body closer against his legs, a snort of hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up his throat. He imagined what it must all look like, like he was the hero of a really trashy comedy, the laughing stock of a cheap Bollywood film. And he felt like repeating over and over ‘this cannot be happening.’

But it was. Slowly, Alex moved his head to sneak a peak into the room. He almost hit his head against the chair in his haste to get back under the desk. He felt flushed all over, closing his eyes, uncertain if he wanted the newly acquired visual to disappear or remain imprinted on his retina forever.

Enrique’s red cock standing upright and disappearing in the woman’s mouth in an unsteady rhythm… The sight should not have been arousing; Enrique by far was no attractive man. But Alex's trousers strained against his cock. He clenched both hands around the gun. He decided he’d pushed this misadventure too far. It was time to put an end to it. He got what he'd come for – it had been easy, as he’d expected, the gun was simply lying on the man’s messy desk. The couple barging into the room in their fit of lustful moans hadn’t been part of the equation and Alex was fed up dealing with it.

If he could just… sneak out… stay low or something. In all likelihood the couple would be too preoccupied to notice anything anyway.

Alex ignored his heart hammering in his chest, and tried not to think that it wasn’t just from the adrenaline of doing something dangerous, such as attempting to crawl out of a room he wasn’t supposed to be in, without any shelter or disguise.

Step by step. Slowly. Don’t rush it. He didn’t want to accidentally take down a lamp or any other piece of furniture.

Shakily Alex crawled out of his makeshift hiding place under the desk. He focussed on the route he’d mapped out for himself: around the potted plant, along the wall all the way to the half-open door, that would lead into the parlour attached to Enrique’s concierge rooms. It would be easy; it looked easy enough, especially with the couple on the bed too preoccupied to notice much, if the noises were anything to go by.

Enrique’s moans were filthy and loud and Alex bit the inside of his cheek, focussing hard on crawling forward, trying to stop his left hand, in which he carried the gun, from trembling.

He did not want to bring up his other hand to his crotch – because that would just be irrational, considering the situation. Really.

“Stop!”

Alex froze, heart stopping in his chest.

“Stay… Right there… I’m coming…” Enrique gasped.

Alex forced air back into his lungs, continuing his quest for an exit with even more determination than before, if that was possible.

Relief overwhelmed all of his senses when he was out of the bedroom and he felt safe enough to straighten to an upright position. He let out a shaky breath and reached for the door handle, his mind already in the safety of his room, thinking of the best place to hide the gun.

But before he’d even taken a step outside, he was grabbed roughly by strong arms. The gun was pulled from him before he could even remember he was armed and he stared into the impassive face of Yassen Gregorovich.

“Be quiet.” Yassen ordered brusquely. No threats were needed, as Alex felt the hard metal of Enrique’s gun press against his lower back. Yassen pushed him forward and together they walked out of the hallway.

Alex straightened up as far as Yassen’s hands would allow him to. He wasn’t going to allow himself to panic.

He kept his eyes averted as they passed a history teacher and two security guards. They looked only vaguely questioning when they noticed the pair of them.

Alex wondered if he could be fast enough to grab the rifle he knew Yassen carried. Finally he decided against it. He was in a school building, there were too many people around and Yassen’s professional reflexes wouldn’t allow Alex such luck.

He had to hope for the best. Was Yassen taking him to Brent? No, they were clearly headed for the residence building, Alex realized, even before they stepped outside and the Egyptian humidity attached its sticky claws to his body.

Once inside, Yassen headed for the elevators, pressing the button for the fourth floor. Alex instantly knew they were going to Yassen’s personal chambers. Alex had located them on his first day in the school – 4.19, a clear view on the square downstairs, right next to a fire escape ladder. Alex had already contemplated climbing up there, he had a gut feeling that he would be able to find Smithers’ gadgets among Yassen’s possessions. But it would have been hard – with security guards patrolling at the bottom of the building. He would have had to attempt it at night, when Yassen might have been in. Finally Alex had decided getting Enrique's gun was more pressing. Or at least more tempting…

Yassen pushed Alex through the door to room 4.19 and together they entered what looked like a small living room, with two comfortable-looking chairs drawn up, a small table and a tiny kitchen in the corner. Yassen let go of Alex once they were in the room, locking the door behind him and gesturing Alex to sit in the chair with the back turned towards the window.

Alex sat down slowly, eyes following Yassen around the room. The man took a glass from one of the shelves, filling it with tap water, before returning to Alex. He quietly sat down in the chair opposite of him, setting the glass of water on the table between them,. He placed the gun – Enrique’s gun – beside it.

The silence lingered between the two of them and Alex was hyperaware of the surroundings, of Yassen living and breathing in front of him, of the Egyptian heat outside, of the tension in his body – the adrenaline of getting caught, the arousal of having listened in on Enrique and that blonde. It felt ridiculously surreal.

“So.” Alex said finally, succumbing to the need to break the silence.

Yassen’s eyes hadn’t left Alex’s face since the silence had started, but he looked down at the gun and then back at Alex.

“Indeed.” Yassen said unblinkingly, “I do believe we find ourselves in a situation that is… what is it the French call it… ‘déjà vu’.”

Alex averted his gaze and looked down at the gun, the black metal on the wooden surface of the low table. A lump formed in his throat as he remembered the events Yassen referred to.

xxx

 

Yassen had never been one to teach. Not like John. John had been a natural at it. He had the patience and the knowing eyes that saw through his students. He anticipated their mistakes and directed them away from them. He was swift, efficient in everything he did. Yassen was swift and deadly efficient, the way John taught him. Other human beings only got in his way. They were unpredictable, too emotional. He did not have the patience for them, so he did not bother.

The whole idea of a school had been ludicrous, even if Yassen wasn’t required to pose as a teacher.

And Alex Rider… Yassen had known Alex would be part of equation almost from the start. It should have made him reconsider the job altogether. But part of him had been excited at the prospect of facing Alex again.

Alex had looked deliciously unsettled when he’d seen Yassen on his first day. Yassen had watched him change from a schoolboy into a spy and back into a schoolboy all in the face of mere seconds. He’d looked oddly out of place in that world of school uniforms, refectory lunches and curfew, even if all of it was artificial.

He’d grown up impossibly since the last time they’d faced off and yet he looked smaller as well, more vulnerable.

And now he was looking up at Yassen with those impossibly wide eyes, nervous energy swirling around him.

“Don’t tell me I have to teach you another lesson, Alex.”

He almost sounded like a real teacher.

Curiosity and defiance crossed Alex’s features and Yassen fought back a smirk.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Yassen let his lips curl up into an unsmiling smile. “Yes you do. Young Alex, you and guns don’t have the best of track records.”

Alex’s tense, shifting gaze was disconcerting, as if what he’d gained in experience in a year’s work as a spy, he’d lost in confidence.

“I don’t need you to teach me how to fire a gun.” Alex said, full of challenge.

“I’m sure you know the mechanics of it, Alex. I know you learned from the best in the business.”

Alex jutted his chin forward, but a small flush crept up his face. Yassen wondered what went through the boy’s mind, when forced to remember his time at Malagosto.

“But I also know you are still incapable of a clean kill.”

Alex shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze.

“Guns are handed out so freely these days, but in incapable hands they are… messy and inefficient.”

It was exhilarating, having Alex’s full attention like that. He wondered if that was how teachers felt, whether that was how John had felt when Yassen had looked at him expecting to find the whole world in his teachings.

“You are inexperienced, aren’t you, Alex? All you know is some of the mechanics; you load, you aim, you pull the trigger…”

His words seemed to suck out the air in the room. From the way Alex’s chest rose and fell, Yassen could tell his breathing had become shallow and difficult.

He leaned forward, further breaching Alex’s personal space. The boy didn’t draw back, not even when Yassen reached out and took his hand, guiding it towards the table. 

He pulled Alex’s hand towards the gun, the boy’s fingers curling around the hilt instinctively, before loosening their grip again. Yassen held the hand firmly in place, feeling muscles clench and unclench. When he knew Alex had a tight grip on the weapon, Yassen let go.

“You got what you wanted, Alex. Are you not happy?”

Hand clenched around the handgun, Alex sat frozen, as if the gun was too heavy a weight to lift.

Yassen laughed, a soft but unmistakable sound. Alex looked up, unsure.

“You don’t want to kill. You’re still an innocent child, aren’t you Alex? Despite everything they’ve put you through, you’re still a poster boy for useless morals.”

For a moment Alex’s hand clenched tighter around the gun, but then he let go of it entirely, a frustrated, almost bitter look on his face.

“You see,” Yassen started, staring pointedly at Alex, “you’re still a virgin.”

Alex's eyes widened at that, a flush creeping down to his neck in a second.

It would have been a lie to say that he hadn’t noticed the telltale strain of Alex’s uniform trousers when he’d dragged him away from Enrique’s bedroom, the smell of sex clinging to him, after having been in a that hot, humid room for too long. Too exposed.

“You don’t really know anything about this business. It’s only knee-jerk reactions for you, instinct and impulse, bodily responses. It’s not real. That’s not the real thing.”

Yassen took the gun purposefully, standing up, towering over Alex. Alex just looked up at Yassen, expression dazed.

“You can’t just go in faking this!” Yassen said more forcibly this time.

He leaned forward, pulling Alex up by his blazer, overcome by the urge to make Alex listen, _really_ listen to what he was saying.

“It’s only real when you mean it, when you know what you’re doing;” he continued, “when your intent is bare and naked.”

Alex's face contorted into a pain filled grimace. Yassen realized his grip on the boy was too tight, but he didn’t loosen his hold. He looked back straight into Alex's eyes, noting the dilated pupils. He pushed the gun that he still held in his free hand against Alex’s ribs, the boy’s stomach and lungs constricting at the metallic prod.

“It’s only real if you are capable of looking someone straight in the eye as you pull the trigger.” Yassen said softly.

Alex had stopped breathing, fear in his eyes flashing like a neon billboard. But he didn’t look away.

Yassen drew out the moment for a long time, Alex’s fear rolling off in waves like a ticking clock. Finally, he pushed the boy away.

He pocketed the gun and gestured towards the door. “Just leave, Alex.”

The boy looked like a rampant mess, eyes wild and confused, face and neck flushed, uniform rumpled and clinging too tight around the groin… He stood there like a shaken puppy, unmoving, as if trying to remember how his limbs worked.

“You’re still a schoolboy, Alex. You still have too much to learn.”

Alex jutted his chin forward again that defiant look slowly returning to his face. He casually ran one hand through his hair and it was only because Yassen was looking closely that he noticed it was shaking.

“You should teach me, then.” Alex said slowly but deliberately.

Yassen had been ready to look away from the boy, ready to put Alex from his mind, ready to deny the arousal that coursed through him each time Alex even looked at him.

“What?” he replied, sounding sharp and tense.

“This is a school, isn’t it?” Alex fired back. Yassen would have never expected the boy to still be able to sound so coy.

“Don’t send me away,” Alex continued, and Yassen wanted to laugh at that, at Alex sounding like a little, frightened child. But Alex looked nothing like a child, as he approached him slowly but purposefully, eyes unblinking and almost predatory.

“Show me. You should show me.”

They both knew they weren’t talking about firing a gun any longer. Alex didn’t really need Yassen to teach him how to kill.

Blood pounded behind Yassen’s temples; he could no longer deny that it was because of Alex Rider consciously breaching his personal space.

Fearlessness, determination: everything that was so very Alex Rider was right there in front of him; Alex, so close that if he’d reach out, he could touch.

It made Yassen already want to damn the consequences of continuing this, whatever ‘this’ was. The proximity was almost crushing. It was already too much; too much Alex, too much of his smell, his wide eyes, innocent and old all at once. Being this close to Alex was a tingling sensation. It got under his skin, starting a fire there. Right there.

“You.” Alex said plainly, voice sounding like something between a request and a command, “You teach me.”

Yassen swallowed down the chunk of saliva stuck in his throat.

“You want to, right?” Alex said, flashing him a smile, as if he knew what he was playing at.

Of course Alex didn’t understand. Didn’t even understand that he didn’t want to understand, that he shouldn’t understand this particular bit of the world. But the world had already swallowed Alex whole and Alex was more than willing to spit it right back out.

Alex stretched his arms, slowly reaching out for Yassen, fingers clenching around the thick fabric of the black vest.

“I’m not a good teacher.” Yassen said finally, managing to keep his voice even.

Alex’s hands were already clutching his arms, for balance, Yassen thought.

“Have you seen my school attendance record?” Alex asked, a small, slightly hesitant grin splayed on his face, “I’m not a great student.”

Alex leaned in closer, pressing more of his weight against Yassen, eyes wide with recklessness.

And so it was that Alex pressed his lips against Yassen’s and Yassen knew he really was the worst teacher in the history of teaching.

But he wouldn’t have got to where he was in life if not for the determination to be the best at everything. And he had a whole night of making that happen.

xxx

 

Alex had little time to take in the surroundings as Yassen pushed him through the bedroom door. It looked like an expensive hotel room: a king size bed, grey bed sheets, off-white walls… everything unnaturally tidy. The only thought flitting through Alex’s brain was how very different this world was from his own, just a few floors down; the cell-like tiny rooms, creaky, old-fashioned beds, the English floral bed sheets…

Then Yassen’s mouth and hands demanded his attention. His body jumped, tensing in every direction, as he was pushed further and further into room.

Yassen’s long fingers tugged at his tie, pulling it loose without even breaking the kiss. Kiss… Alex could barely breathe into it. It was dizzying.

They’d ended up horizontally on the bed before Alex began to realize what he’d started. Yassen’s weight pushing him into the mattress, bodies pressed together. A moan escaped his lips at the friction against his erection. In response, Yassen bucked his hips again, rubbing small circles against Alex’s groin.

The hard line of Yassen’s cock pressed up against his hips, at the same time Alex felt the press of the gun, still hidden inside Yassen’s vest, against his chest. It was tantalizing.

Yassen’s mouth shifted towards Alex’s neck. There was stubble and it burned when Yassen rubbed his chin against Alex’s Adam’s apple. In the back of his mind Alex thought it might hurt, but it didn’t… It really didn’t.

Yassen continued his trail of licks against his throat when one hand travelled down towards Alex’s groin. The press was gentle at first. Alex swallowed; the sensation strangely slow with the weight over Yassen’s mouth against his throat. Yassen bit down, fingers tightening their grip around Alex’s balls.

It made Alex moan. Loudly. His back arched up to press violently into Yassen’s hand.

Yassen withdrew his hand entirely at that, “Slowly,” he said, the Russian only vaguely present in his accent. He flashed Alex a lopsided, knowing grin. “We’re doing this my way,” he continued, “not the teenage way.”

He pushed Alex’s shoulders firmly back into the mattress, reclaiming Alex’s lips, tongue lazy and slow in Alex’s wide-mouthed kiss.

When Yassen broke the kiss, Alex let out a low sound of frustration. He tangled his fingers into the curling locks of hair at the nape of Yassen’s neck, trying to pull the man back into the kiss.

Yassen laughed breathily into Alex’s face, “I’m an old man, you know, little Alex, I wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.”

Alex tried to scramble his brain together long enough to muster a scathing retort; something about how he didn’t need to be treated like a virgin girl. It died on his lips when Yassen’s hands wrapped around the hem of Alex’s jeans and tugged.

In one smooth movement, Yassen had divested Alex of his trousers, leaving him in only his boxers and his shirt, before rejoining Alex on the bed.

It was then that Alex knew that, no mater how ‘slow’ Yassen went, it would always be too fast. He’d long ago given up any control over the situation. Mind reeling, something akin to terror gripped his heart, stopping his lungs from working properly. It felt like being closed in, like being hit by claustrophobia, his body screaming at him in alarm, telling him to get away.

In that moment, Alex was tempted to beg Yassen to let him go. Tempted to push him away, but his limbs were like jelly, unresponsive and useless.

Yassen seemed to sense something was wrong. Alex was almost sure the assassin whispered something soft, shushing, something soothing, probably in Russian, before pressing a chaste kiss against Alex lips.

A hand reached under Alex’s shirt, cold but soft. “Yes.” Alex groaned, even though there hadn’t been a question.

Yes – I want this. Yes – show me. Yes – I want you. Yes to all of that. And Yassen heard it loud and clear, because the hand slipped further up Alex’s chest, lingering at Alex’s nipples.

Alex arched into the touch. He’d rubbed his fingers over his own nipples before, when he was feeling experimental. This felt nothing like it. Yassen’s hands on him like that, touching like that… His own hands itched, remembering that they didn’t have to remain uselessly lying next to his body Alex got all of his fingers to cooperate on the task of loosening the buttons on Yassen’s black vest, because Yassen was still clothed and heavy with it.

Yassen smiled into the deep kiss, his hands drawing back from Alex’s chest in favour of aiding Alex’s fumbling, stripping himself of his vest. Getting off from the bed, he put the gun on the bureau, a smirk tugging at his lips. Next were his trousers; he stepped out of them with the same unworldly elegance that always mesmerized Alex.

And Alex was staring. Gun long forgotten; Alex leaned back against the pillow to watch. Following Yassen’s movements and lingering on the black briefs Yassen wore underneath his clothes. He only saw a flash of them as Yassen got out of them just as quickly, adding them to the pile of clothing on the sofa next to the bed.

Alex swallowed dryly as he took in the sight of Yassen’s long erect cock and the trail of hair leading up and under his shirt.

Slow, Alex thought, and decided that this didn’t look anything like slow. He felt strikingly conscious of his own tented boxer shorts and felt that familiar, claustrophobic feeling rushed over him again.

After ridding himself of his black shirt, Yassen climbed onto the bed, onto Alex, completely naked, his hands resuming their expedition of Alex’s body. Yassen was still heavy and Alex was so much more aware of Yassen. When they’d stumbled on the bed together earlier, the friction had seemed natural, incidental. Now it was deliberate as Yassen positioned himself snugly against Alex’s thigh. Alex could feel him, all of him. For a long moment Alex didn’t move, until Yassen’s fingers brushed over his nipple while sucking on a vein in his neck.

It was as if Yassen had turned on a switch and electricity shot freely through Alex’s body again. When Yassen rubbed his stubble against Alex’s lips again, he parted them eagerly.

Alex was suddenly sure that he didn’t want it slow. Slow was overrated.

It was easy to let Yassen set the pace, his fingers working Alex’s body deftly. When they pressed into his body, the sensation was beyond strange, but the fingers were steady and strong and Alex had to let them because it very quickly felt spectacularly good.

Lost in too much sensation, Alex had to stop thinking, focussing only on getting enough air in his lungs to keep moaning.

Yassen did everything else from directing his legs to lie over his strong shoulders, kissing Alex hard when he otherwise would have screamed, to using Kleenex to wipe away come from his belly when he was too fucked out to remember his name.

School definitely wasn’t boring.

xxx

 

People did not just look different without clothes on; often their entire behaviour changed.

Alex looked older without his layered, maroon uniform. His body looked old and worn, with scar tissue marring the pale-white skin.

Yassen’s hands had lingered on the scar the bullet had left on Alex, the dead skin tissue hard against his fingers. Alex’s breathing had hitched slightly at the gesture, Yassen wondered if the boy was tormented with phantom pains.

But Alex without clothes meant more reckless abandon, meant more of that teenage enthusiasm, more kissing like it was breathing.

Alex still tensed and blushed and didn’t seem to know what he was doing half of the time; but the other half he gave to Yassen so freely and so wholly without reserve that Yassen had been almost afraid to take.

Almost.

Yassen woke up before Alex did. He never slept long. Alex, on the other hand, had slept solidly through the night, reminding Yassen too much of a trusting puppy instead of the world’s youngest spy.

Yassen had sensed the confusion in Alex when the boy had woken up at the morning light but the boy had gathered his wits and got out of bed quietly. He’d heard Alex moving about, looking for uniform items that were scattered around the floor, dressing swiftly. He’d tried not to feel a rush of guilt when he heard the boy’s sharp intake of breath as he slid into his tailored trousers.

Finally he opened his eyes to watch Alex fumble with his tie, his shirt still halfway out of his trousers, the school uniform looking even more out of place than before.

He watched Alex lean forward, reaching for Enrique’s gun still lying on the bureau table. With quick, unhesitating movements, he took the gun, turning it around in the palm of his hand, holding it up for inspection. Then he started towards the door.

Yassen coughed softly. Alex turned, for a split second a guilty expression tugged at his features, as his eyes travelled from the gun to Yassen’s inquiring expression.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yassen asked, straightening himself against the pillow, his eyebrow quirking up.

“Geography,” Alex said lightly, averting his gaze and casually shoving the gun into the inside pocket of his uniform vest.

Yassen let the defiance pass, his mouth twitching into a small smile. He pushed away the covers as soon as Alex was out of the door.

He had time for a quick shower and some toast; Alex Rider deserved a ten-minute head start.

The game was on once more.


End file.
